dropped him down.’
His eyes widened with horror. ‘He was deliberately maimed?’
‘Presumably to prevent him hauling himself up to safety. Whoever put him down there was determined he would never escape.’
Daniel winced. ‘Don’t tell me he was alive when he went down there?’
‘Still conscious, yes.’
‘Fuck,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Whatever his faults, he didn’t deserve to die like that.’
‘What was the cause of death?’
‘The post-mortem results weren’t ready when I left work this evening. Hypothermia, possibly heart failure, I’d guess. His head was gashed, you must have seen, that may have been the blow that incapacitated him before his legs and knees were smashed. His injuries didn’t kill him, but he wasn’t kitted out for a night underground in these temperatures.’
Daniel swallowed hard. ‘Imagine his last hours. Trapped in the dark, suffering terrible pain. Nightmarish for anyone, but for a claustrophobe…’
‘Your father thought I relied too much on imagination.’ The wine tasted flinty on Hannah’s tongue. She should have grabbed something to eat, so there’d be no risk of the alcohol going to her head. ‘He worried that I’d let it get in the way of the business of detection.’
‘Dad wasn’t always right.’
‘It helps to try to think myself into the head of the victim. And the criminal.’
‘Not easy to inhabit the mind of someone capable of torturing a man before killing him.’ Daniel swallowed more wine. ‘Someone must have hated Stuart very badly to do that to him.’
‘Has Louise any clue about who might fit the bill? Did Stuart admit to having enemies?’
‘This isn’t a rational crime. Surely it’s the work of a sociopath.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t believe it was a random crime, either. Stuart Wagg wasn’t a fool. How did he allow someone to do that to him?’
‘If the killer incapacitated him with a blow to the head, maybe he was dragged to the well at gunpoint or knifepoint.’
‘How did the murderer get so close? Crag Gill was fitted out with state-of-the-art security.’
‘The storm-’
‘Had nothing to do with the fact that the power supply to the house wasn’t working. I gather the lines were cut. Deliberate sabotage.’
‘So, the murder was premeditated?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Stuart didn’t have to let anyone into his home if he was suspicious or afraid.’
‘The best guess is that he knew his visitor. He or she was a friend or acquaintance.’
‘Not Louise,’ he said quickly.
‘Of course not.’ So he wasn’t quite as laid-back as he looked, at least where his sister was concerned. ‘There will be more questions for her, I’m afraid, but she’ll be OK. I’m sure she couldn’t have hurt Wagg like that. Lashing out with scissors in a moment of despair is very different. The sheer brutality of this murder isn’t in her nature.’
‘Let’s hope your colleagues are equally open-minded,’ he muttered.
‘They are only doing their job, Daniel.’ Why did she sound so defensive? ‘Everyone who knew Stuart Wagg will come under the microscope.’
‘Are we talking about a hired killer?’
‘Who knows? Nine times out of ten, hit men shoot their victims. Why dump him down the well without even making certain he was dead first? That’s gratuitously vicious.’
‘Maybe not so gratuitous,’ he suggested. ‘A sign of intense personal hatred.’
‘Which is why I’m surprised Louise can’t come up with any likely candidates.’
‘Wagg acted for the rich and famous, people who have skeletons in their closet. If he was caught up in criminal shenanigans, money laundering, or drug deals or something-’
‘Did he use drugs?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Louise would never touch them, and if she’d found out that Wagg was involved with drugs, she’d have run a mile. When she was sixteen, the brother of her best friend died after taking an ecstasy tablet and the tragedy left a scar. She’s never so much as ventured a quick drag on a joint.’
‘Ever heard Louise or Stuart mention the name of Bethany Friend?’
From the other side of the bar came a chorus of whistles and guffaws. It sounded more like the climax of a rugby match than a general knowledge quiz.
‘Never. Why would there be a connection between Stuart and a young woman who died of drowning?’
Hannah looked down and saw her glass was empty. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
‘Don’t you need to get back home?’
‘No rush.’
When she glanced up, she saw his gaze fixed upon her. She’d taken care to make sure that her expression gave nothing away, but he was his father’s son. Skilled at seeing through people.
‘Then I’ll have a cranberry juice.’
Waiting her turn at the bar, she decided it made a change to be looked at with any sort of curiosity. Stuck in a rut, at work and at home, she was bound to feel flattered by the attention of an attractive man. Especially one who wasn’t spoken for any longer. Miranda, the lovely narcissist, hadn’t appreciated how lucky she was. As the barmaid dragged herself away from a chat with a colleague, Hannah ventured a quick glance back at the corner booth. The shape of Daniel’s head, the jut of his chin, reminded her of Ben. If the hair had been grey instead of dark, she’d swear she was seeing a ghost.
Physical, primitive desire jolted her. Hot and shocking, as if she’d touched a live wire.
‘What would you like?’ the barmaid asked.
Hannah’s throat was dry, her knees were mushy and about to buckle. Stuttering her order, fumbling with her purse, she felt her cheeks burn, as though all her clothes had slid off, and everyone could see exactly what she was made of. The barmaid rolled her eyes, thinking she was pissed. Somewhere in the distance, the question master announced that the capital city of Senegal was Dakar.
Deep breaths.
The moment she’d steadied herself, she ferried the drinks to their table, taking extravagant care not to spill a drop. Daniel stuffed a felt-tip pen back in his trouser pocket. He’d been doodling on a beer mat. A picture of a hangman.
‘Cheers,’ he said absently. ‘I was thinking…’
‘Yes?’
Shit, she was almost reduced to a nervous squeak.
‘They are an odd trio, aren’t they? Bethany Friend, George Saffell, Stuart Wagg? But they do have at least one thing in common.’
She stiffened. ‘And what’s that?’
A roar of delight gusted over from the other side of the bar. The fat question master had finished reading out the answers. If only every puzzle had a ready-made solution. Daniel drummed his fingers on the surface of the table.
‘All three of them loved books.’
A ludicrous connection, yet the more they tossed it around, the more she was intrigued. Millions of people still loved books, even in the electronic age, but with Bethany, George, and Stuart alike, books were a consuming passion. Bethany yearned to write books, the two men simply collected them.
‘So, what are you suggesting?’ She enjoyed playing devil’s advocate with him. ‘Three people murdered by someone who loathes the printed word?’
He grinned. ‘Maybe the opposite. The man you’re looking for might be mad about books.’
